Defeated
by Dreamdancer
Summary: AU RingWraiths took the Ring from Frodo when it was in the Shire. Sauron rules Middle-Earth...is there any way to take it back?
1. Chapter 1

Title:  Defeated

Written By:  Dreamdancer

Email: dreamdancer@tekken.cc

Summary:  After Gandalf tells Frodo about the Ring and the quest to Rivendell, the young hobbit decides to go there…alone.  The Nazgul are already in the Shire, however, and because of the difference in time, and Frodo's lack of companionship, there is neither Sam nor Valinor-headed Elves to distract him from the call of the Ring when the Nazgul are near.

Can he possibly make it alone?

Although the One Ring has enough power to conquer armies, even while in Sauron's possession can it truly break the predestined bond that exists among the Nine Walkers?  

Or is it inevitable that Sauron will fail, and despite all obstacles, a Fellowship will exist and would free the world from his shadow?

AU

Disclaimer:  Characters, places, and events used are all property of Tolkein and his family.  Of course I don't own anything.  Some lines from the book are used here...  No profit is being made…I'm just doin it cuz I love this book.

Author's Note:  Inspiration for this story came from hours of frustration when playing the FOTR PS2 game and getting caught by the Nazgul each time.  Hahaha, I never beat the game cuz I was so bad at being a sneaky hobbit…  I have much more respect for Frodo after that experience…if it is even possible for me to have more respect for the lil guy than I already did…  

Yeah and the fic WILL include more characters than the hobbits…Aragorn, Legolas, Gandalf, Boromir, perhaps Gimli and Arwen will also play major roles, as well as all the baddies.  

They're all coming…in later chaps.  

Enjoy…

~*~

"I am sorry Sam.  I cannot take you to see the Elves."

Frodo sighed as the thought entered his mind and he realized that he must leave alone.

He trusted Sam would follow through with their plan despite his absence, and cover up the fact that he left, but if not, that seemed of little importance.

He had realized something when taking tea with Pippin and Sam for the last time in Bag End.  He felt the beginnings of guilt stir in his heart, and who wouldn't, seeing Sam's smiling face, and joking remarks, as well as Pippin's?  Sam belonged in the Shire, in a place full of peace and beauty, not in an outside world with something horrible enough going on to worry Gandalf.  Frodo felt he would be the worst kind of fool to involve his truest friend in all this talk of Rings of Power and the Dark Lord and danger and secrecy…  He would come back for Sam when it was all over, and then take him to see the Elves.  Just not now…not when there was the risk of losing him.

"So it's settled then.  I'm leaving alone," he said aloud, to the walls of Bag End, soon to belong to the Sacksville-Bagginses.  And a sense of wrongness filled him as he said those words, but Frodo did not recognize it for what it was, and called it sadness, when it was truly a warning against his current course of action.

Frodo did not heed it.  He wrapped up loaves of bread for himself in some cloth, and put on his dark green traveling cloak, opened the door and ran a hand through his brown curls.

The time was not yet sunset – it was at least an hour till.

Green eyes burning with what Frodo told himself was excitement, but was in truth unshed tears of good-bye, Frodo looked up at the blue sky and began to walk toward the forest, promising not to look back.

The Shire had never looked so beautiful to him as on the day of his lonely departure.  Children were running back and forth, giggling, and Frodo had never felt so much love for them as he did now, but he dare not show it, for it would arouse curiosity.  So he walked on, with purpose, past a turn that would have taken him back to Bag End to meet up with Sam and the others, on toward the forest.

But as he passed the turn, he could not help but think of his friends, and, the setting sun shining upon him, he turned, as if to start walking back.  Yet even as he took his first step toward the fateful change in path, his resolve strengthened, and he turned toward the direction of the lonely forest once again.

"I'm doing this for Sam," he said to himself.

He did not know that without Sam he would not be able to do it at all.

~*~

            The sun set, and a Nazgul headed for Old Gaffer's home to enquire about a certain Baggins.  The retreating sunlight fell further back as he rode onward, the darkness of his form rivaling that of the deepest shadows ever seen in the serene Shire.  Yet suddenly, he paused in his ride, and pulled his horse to a stop.  A familiar feeling, almost forgotten, yet always remembered, pulled at the remainder of his soul, and quickly he changed his course.

            The stars were thick in the dim sky…yet there was no moon.  A piercing, unholy scream echoed throughout the Shire, and none could even guess at its source.

~*~

_                                           The Road goes ever on and on_

_                                                   Down from the door where it began._

_Now far ahead the Road has gone,_

_                                                   And I must follow if I can,_

_                                          Pausing it with weary feet,_

_Until it joins some larger way,_

_                                          Where many paths and errands meet._

_And whither then? I cannot say._

            Frodo smiled as he sang the words of a song he felt he had made up himself, but was sure he had heard from Bilbo in years past.  He could almost hear Pippin appreciating the tune, and turned as if to address him in return, but then remembered he was alone, and Pippin could not be there, would not have been there anyway, and wondered at the sense of displacement that was overwhelming him.  

He had not met a soul on the road.  The way was not used much, being hardly fit for carts, and there was little traffic to the Woody End.  He had been jogging along for an hour or more after singing his song when Frodo felt something inside him tell him to stop and listen.  He could hear a pony or a horse coming along the road behind, and at once thought it was Sam, Merry, Pippin, or all three coming after him.  Or perhaps it was Gandalf!  But even as Frodo thought this he felt that it was not so, and a sudden desire to hide came over him.  

            Frodo ran quickly to a little hollow not far from the road, and lay flat, listening.  A sudden pang of what could have been curiosity assaulted him, and he hesitated to hide for a second, but as the approaching sound of hooves grew nearer, he threw himself down in a patch of long grass behind a tree that overshadowed the road.  

            When the rider reached the tree it stopped its horse.  It appeared to be a large man to Frodo, dressed in a great black cloak, his face shadowed and invisible.  From inside the hood came a noise as of someone sniffling to catch an elusive scent.

            A sudden unreasoning fear of discovery laid hold of Frodo, and he thought of his Ring.  He hardly dared to breathe, and yet the desire to get it out of his pocket became so strong that he began to slowly move his hand.  The advice of Gandalf seemed absurd.  Bilbo had used the Ring.  "And I am still in the Shire," he told himself, and his hand touched the chain on which it hung.  At that moment the rider sat up and shook his horse's reins. The horse stepped forward, walking slowly at first, and then breaking into a quick trot.

            Frodo sighed in relief.  After seeing the black rider, he was more than pleased with his decision to leave Sam behind.

~*~

            "Where do you think he's gotten to?"  Pippin questioned, peering into the darkness.  He was sitting on his pack on the back porch.  Sam had just come back from draining the contents of the beer-barrel in the cellar.  All traces of a drunken stupor had disappeared when he discovered that Frodo was nowhere to be found.  

            "Perhaps he found out that we found out and has made off on his own," Merry suggested, frowning.

            "No.  Mr. Frodo would never do that," Sam said strongly, his worry rattling his nerves.  The three fell to silence then, the sounds of the night permeating the air.

            "Which way would he go if…if he did…decide to go on his own, not leaving us behind but just…checking out the way ahead, if you take my meaning…?"  Sam asked, not looking at his companions, but straight ahead, waiting for Frodo to materialize out of the darkness.  The hobbit sighed.  "Yesterday evening, my Gaffer told me that a strange fellow had come around asking for Mr. Frodo.  Said it hissed at him when he said Mr. Frodo had left for good…it gave him the shudders."

            Merry and Pippin regarded him curiously but Sam said no more.

            "Well I'd say he's probably heading to Woody End, Sam.  And if he thinks he can go on an adventure without us, he's wrong!"  Merry decided.

            "Let's get him!"  Pippin agreed, bouncing up from the porch and clapping Sam and the shoulder.  "Ha! I can't wait to show him how hard a Took is to get rid of!"

            And despite Merry and Pippin's jovial, unworried moods, their pace was as quick and urgent as Sam's.

            The unearthly screams that echoed in the night did not ease their minds.

~*~

            Frodo stopped suddenly and stood silent as a tree shadow, listening.  There was a sound of hooves in the lane, behind him, coming clear and slow down the wind.  Quickly, he slipped off the path and ran in to the deeper shade under the oak trees.

            As the hooves drew nearer he had no time find a hiding place better than the general darkness of the trees.  The sound of hooves stopped.  As Frodo peered up he saw something dark press across the light space between the two tress, and then halt.  It looked like the black shape of a horse led by a smaller black shadow.  The black shoadow stood close to the point where he had left the path, and it swayed from side to side.  Frodo thought he heard the sound of snuffling.  The shadow bent to the ground and then began to crawl towards him.  

            Once more the desire to put on the Ring assaulted Frodo.  He felt his hand move, as if by its own accord, to the chain where he wore it around his neck.  The shuffling sounds grew closer, and Frodo felt the presence of evil crawling all over him.  His breathing stopped, and he squeezed his eyes shut, the internal struggle to stop his hand from moving causing him to sweat.  His heart thudded in his chest, and as he slipped the ring onto his finger, he felt as if he was waiting for something to interrupt him, and he almost heard the laughter of Wood Elves, but realized it was his imagination once more.  And so there was nothing to save him from the temptation of the Ring.

            Suddenly the world changed, everything was hazy, and Frodo jumped up in surprise, and then noticed he was fully wearing the Ring.  He heard a shriek, loud, yet muted somehow, by some words by some voice he could not identify, but was everywhere, and suffocating.  He turned around, and he saw the Nazgul in its true form, and just as it pierced him with its sword and reached out to grab the ring, he turned to the left ina vain attempt to block the blow.  His eyes fell on Sam, Merry, and Pippin, who were watching him in horror, and he felt a sudden sense of failure when he realized that they wouldn't get away either.  For there were four more Nazgul behind them, even though they did not know it.

            Were those tears on Sam's face?  But he had left alone to avoid those tears.  Maybe it was his own tears, just blurring his vision.

            Then the Rider took the Ring, and as the world went out of focus Frodo realized he had also failed Gandalf, and wondered what would happen to the world now. __


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Defeated

By: Dreamdancer

Email: dreamdancer@tekken.cc

**One year has passed**

He had been told that he was to be the King of Men.  He had resented that destiny, wanting only the beauty of the land, and the freedom of a life as one of the Dunedain.  Yet he never once believed that his destiny would have been ripped from him, never once thought that what he was told was false, and that all hope was false, and that even the Last Homely House would fall in front of his eyes, and hundreds of Elves would be slaughtered, their immortal lives shattered in savage blows.

All while he watched, unable to change what was befalling him and those he loved.

            He had never even dared to fear this…fate that had befallen his land.  Never doubted the Istari, or the wisdom of Gandalf the Grey…

Maybe that was why he still could not believe that Sauron possessed the One Ring.

            Maybe that was why he could not bow his head and slouch his shoulders like all slaves were meant to do.

            Maybe that was why they were beating him now.

Aragorn Elessar screamed in agony.  He was chained to a wall in the deepest dungeons of Orthanc, his arms and wrists in shackles and manacles, high above his head, straining his shoulder joints.  His shirt had been ripped to shreds months before, although a few threads still clung to the sticky wetness of his bloody skin.  

He hadn't screamed the first few weeks of his torture.  He had been proud, strong, undefeatable.  But it had been almost a year since the Ring had been retaken, a year since Rivendell fell.  A year of repeated beatings that left inflamed, infected wounds on his body.  The orcs stopped sooner if he screamed.  They were breaking him; he realized that.  But he had started to stop caring.

So he screamed.

Worse than the physical pain was the taunting.  Always they taunted him, their harsh, guttural voices slicing away his sanity day by day, preventing his mind from finding a better place to wander, reminding him of what he had lost, those many, many things he had lost…

"You scream like a girl," one growled, slashing his barbed whip across Aragorn's bare back, smirking in delight as the skin and blood splattered easily against the blow.

"Like the she-elf," one commented, as they always commented, the same conversation over and over because they knew it hurt him.  Just like they whipped him in the same places over and over because they knew that each time they hit him they were weakening the same spot, until they could break him into a servile being.  The lord would be pleased, for Saruman very much wanted to own this man, once fated to be greatest of all men, now fated to be a slave of the Deceiver.

"She had long hair.  Black like the night.  It was so soft, when we ripped it from her head."

"It made good rope," one commented, and they laughed then, the same raucous laugh they used whenever they spoke of his love, his forbidden Elven love.  But what did they know of her?  They were just talking to unnerve him; they never hurt her.  They were just guessing that he had once loved an Elf-maiden.  They knew nothing, they knew nothing…

She had gotten away…

Hadn't she?

In the blur of all the pain and the insinuations of the orcs and his hopes, Aragorn and forgotten exactly what was real and what was not.  But he would never let them know it.

"And her eyes, grey like mists," Frualg, the third of his torturers said, poetic in the only way he could be: torture.

"How they watered with tears!  Like rain!"

"And she tasted good, like mutton."  They all laughed as they struck him in unison, three barbed whips, the same in their form and shape, but each thorn within each whip with a different jolt of pain.

"You know nothing!" the man spat, anger freeing him from the speechlessness of pain.  "You know nothing!"  His voice was hoarse and tired.  It had been proud once, hadn't it?  

He was beginning to forget.

They were breaking him.

He felt their leader, the largest of the three, grab his hair and pull his head back.

"I know how soft her skin was, and how loud her cries were.  Pathetic human," he growled.  And then he pulled Aragorn's head back even further, harshly, pulling his hair out by the roots.

"You never touched her!  You aren't good enough to have ever touched her!"

"Good enough!"  the second one, Grumm, spat.  "Who is the slave?  Who is free?  Who does the master love?"

"Arwen got away!  She got away!"  he cried, his voice cracking on the words.

"Arwen," The leader, Krul, laughed.  "Arwen."

And Aragorn felt all resolve leave him as they continued his beating.  He didn't even feel the pain anymore.

He had told them her name.  They knew her name.

He had not wanted to share that with them, didn't want them to have any part of her, his love, his Luthien…

Arwen…

He felt defeated.  And his hope left him, and he was sure he could remember seeing the light flee her eyes when the orcs surrounded her…just like they said…he could hear Elrond's anguished cries, see Elladan futilely try to save her, and Elrohir pierced at the end of an orc spear.  He saw the blood, a million shades of red in the sunlight, on the grass…each drop like a shard of a broken mirror showing him a reflection of himself, a failure in the thing that mattered most.

He should have protected the hobbit in the Shire, but he had been too late.

Sauron had the Ring.

And he remembered feeling the orcs chain him and flay him until he could barely move, and wondering why he was alive, why when all else was lost…was he alive?

And then one of the Nine Ring Wraiths had revealed the answer: Sauron wanted him as well.

Sauron had the Ring.  He got whatever he wanted.

And all was lost.

~*~

Curious Elven eyes watched as three orcs left a room filled with human screams and moans of agony.  The Elf was sure this man was special, for he had watched the orcs return for torture everyday.

Elven eyes narrowed as they noticed a slight crack in the stone wall that surrounded the prisoner's cell.  It was most likely a result of the careless ways the orcs treated their weapons, both whips and those used to bludgeon.  They were always throwing them against walls and prisoners alike.  The Elf prince scowled in disgust as he fingered the feathered tip of one of his arrows.  

"Foolish orcs," he spat.

He notched one arrow against his bowstring cautiously, listening carefully for approaching footsteps, and tried to ignore the suffocating stench of the Orthanc dungeon.

Then he stepped from his hiding place and approached the cell.  Perhaps this human prisoner was the one he sought.

Perhaps this was the one Mithrandir had sent him to look for…the one that would help in their cause to defeat Sauron, Ring or no.

The Son of Mirkwood reached the stone cage, and kneeled in order to look through the crack, his Elven eyes narrowing once more as he beheld the piteous sight inside.

It was a Man, dark of hair and tan of skin.  He looked somewhat starved, his muscles wiry and taut against his skin.  His hair reached his shoulders, and it was tangled and matted with blood.  Patches of it were missing where it had been forcefully torn out.  His body was scarred and torn, pink, new scars forming over the old.  His eyes were open, the Elf could see, but staring at the wall he was pinned, face-forward, against.  They were a chilling, glazed, grey-blue that looked so alike to that of the dead, the Elf was certain the rise and fall of the Man's bare chest was an illusion.

There was the trace of dignity in the attempt of his shoulders to remain somewhat straight, the strength in his muscles, the clenching of the jaw.  But there was detachment and grief there as well, and for that, the Elf was not surprised.  The Elves of Mirkwood had successfully evaded Sauron's legions, but Legolas knew that was not so in Rivendell.  A strong soul indeed the Man must have had, to remain strong for such a long time.

There was beauty in his fallen grace, in the curve of his muscles, in his stature, defeated as it may have been.  Greenleaf felt a kinship to this man he did not understand, as if he had seen him once, strong and proud, as the fearless Dunedain he was fabled to be.  Although that could not be so; he was sure of it.  Yet the Elf understood why the Evenstar had fallen for this Man, and felt a great pity in his heart for both, as well as a great irritation concerning Sauron, who not only brought this grief upon them, but had nestled his dungeon in the most foul of foul places, where Legolas could scarcely breathe without gagging and giving himself away.

He sighed.

If this was indeed the King of Men, it would seem as if Legolas had not reached him in time.  For although there was breath in him, the one once known as Estel was now hardly fit for the name, as he wore his grief more fittingly than the rags and shreds of noble cloth that adorned him.

This was the type of grief Legolas had seen Elves die of.

He doubted a Man suffering through it would be of any use.

"Yet again," he mused, "you win, Sauron."

Author's Note: Mithrandir is an Elven name for Gandalf.

Also, I'm toying with the idea of giving Legolas dark hair in this fic.  Thoughts on this?  Hate it, love it…doesn't matter?

Estel means hope and that's what his Elven foster family (Elrond, Elrohir, Elladan, and Arwen, as well as most other Elves prolly) called him.

Elves are immortal, but they can die of you know…bodily harm, like being torn to pieces, or from grief/heartache… 

If I'm wrong about anything, please tell me! ^_^


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Defeated

Written By: Dreamdancer

Email: dreamdancer@tekken.cc

Author's Note:  OK, because of Cheysuli's charming pleas ^_~, Legolas will not have dark hair.  However, for some reason, I don't want him to have blond hair…even though I'll be the one of the first to say how amazingly beautiful he looks in the movie!  But still…it's just too…something…beautiful I guess…So, our lovely elf will have SILVER hair.  Hey, it's possible!!  Elrond has dark and silver hair…  And Legolas is a "strange elf" according to his description in the book.  Some families of elves have silver hair I think.  Of course, Thranduil had blond hair, so I guess Legolas prolly would too.  Personally, I think he has dark hair, because of this:

~*Frodo looked up at the Elf standing tall above him, as he gazed into the night, seeking a mark to shoot at. His head was dark, crowned with sharp white stars that glittered in the black pools of the sky behind.*~  _The Great River, FOTR._

This is at night…so I dunno. lol

But yes, he will have silver hair.  Just think Sephiroth like…just you know, with a taller, leaner Elven body. And that beautiful Orlando face of course… ^_^  

            Sighing in irritation, Legolas stood, brushing strands of starlight colored hair from his eyes.  Sounds of dripping liquid could be heard from the depths of the dungeon.  The walls were of a burnt red stone, the ceiling low, dark and sooty.  It was a detestable place, one Legolas would never have imagined himself in.  He hadn't seen the stars in almost a month, and his heart ached for clean air.  

            But the dungeons of Orthanc were more difficult to get out of than in, and he had not as of yet been able to escape, even though he had willingly and secretly entered.  The secrecy had not been kept long, however; orcs had caught him mere hours after he had crawled in through the gutters.  He had slain the entire band, a feat he attributed more to urgency than anything else, and did his best to hide the bodies.  He was sure they had been found already, but the dungeons were large, and no alarm had been sounded as of yet.  He had noticed increased patrols, however.  But after the first attack, he had managed to stay out of harms way.

He would have been rid of the place much sooner if not for his own inherent weaknesses.  After the first few days of his entrance, a week of claustrophobia had paralyzed him. Slowly it had abated, allowing him the strength of mind he now clung to by forcing himself not the think too much about where he was.  At this moment, he was cursing himself for his cowardliness.

            That week he had spent as useless as a dwarf counting his treasures had cost this Man, Aragorn, a great deal of pain.  But Legolas was not one to dwell on the mistakes of the past.  Gandalf had said that Aragorn must be returned to him as soon as possible.  So Legolas would do that.

            If only he could figure out how to enter the cell…

            Legolas sighed, then inhaled, and almost gagged from the stench.  He furrowed straight eyebrows in irritation, his fair blue eyes flashing.  At loss of what else to do, the Prince of Mirkwood approached the cell door and frowned at the lock.  

            The entire cell was like a large stone box.  There was no window, and the entire area was only about twenty-five paces long and ten wide.  It was a dreadful place to be, and Legolas shuddered to think of spending an entire year there, with nothing but nightmares, haunts of past prisoners, and foul orcs with whips to keep one company.

            The lock however, was made of metal.  It was slightly rusted, but not enough so that he could break it, and he did not know how to pick it.  It was of unfamiliar design, and no doubt laden with traps.  There were no idle orcs lazing about with the key, unfortunately.  

            Of course things would not be that easy.

            There was something strange about it though, although he could not decide exactly what.

Legolas was actually surprised he had made it this far.  He was almost certain that Sauron would have known the second he began his journey toward Orthanc.  And yet, not only had he arrived there, he had entered the Deceiver's dungeons!  And now he was attempting to free a prisoner.

            "But alas…the lock…" the fair Elf sighed.

            Perhaps Sauron had known that the lock alone was enough to stop him.

            "If only I could concentrate more," the Elf lamented.  But the bowels of an unholy place like Orthanc was not a place Elves were meant to wander, and it was taking a toll on his senses.

            This fact made itself further known when Legolas noticed footsteps drawing near to him, a tad closer than he would have liked.  He could count eight pairs of footfalls about 500 paces from turning the corner that would put him in their view.  In his current state he doubted he could take on that many orcs.  Quickly, the tall Elf dodged into the shadows formed by a dent in the wall, caused by some large object being hurled at it some time in the distant past.  The darkness covered his form, but not completely, and Legolas could only hope that the orcs would not look his way.

            Then, his heart dropped when he heard orcs coming from the opposite direction as well.  They were bound to see him!  Feeling frantic, the Elf looked from side to side, his fair hair whipping back and forth, his forehead furrowed in anxiety.  

            Then his gaze fell on the lock on Aragorn's cell and Legolas noticed something about it that he hadn't been able to tell at his previous angle.

            It was unlocked.

            Of course!  What fool would enter Orthanc's dungeons and get far enough to try a lock?  Aragorn was chained to a wall, there was no danger of him getting out.  Orcs were lazy by nature and had probably begun slacking off hundreds of years ago.

            Cursing himself for his stupidity, and praying to the Valar that no orcs would notice him, Legolas ran to Aragorn's cell, opened the door and let himself in.

            It shut with a stony clang, yet the Man within made no sign of noticing.  

            Legolas regarded him curiously, while trying not to vomit from the stench of the cell.  "What a horrid place," he sighed, "For a King of Men to dwell."

            Presently, Greenleaf heard guttural orcish voices passing by the cell door, and, to his surprise, a Dwarvish one as well.

            "By the halls of Khazad-dum, I'll have all of ye as a notch on me axe!  Ye-"

            Legolas winced as his words were cut off by the sound off stone bashing skull, and the laughter of the orcs.

            He heard the sound of a nearby cell being opened, something heavy thrown in, and then closed.  A click of a lock sounded, and Legolas frowned at the orcs' inconsistency.

            Perhaps they weren't planning on entering the dwarf's cell as much as they did Aragorn's for the beatings, and so, they locked it.  

            Aragorn.

            The Elf cursed himself and Sauron for his lightheadedness and walked cautiously toward the dark man.  His face was thick with beard and he smelled awful, but the Elf did his best to ignore the fact.  He shook the human gently, placing his hands on the back of the Man's shoulders, and peering past them to watch his face.  He frowned at the strength of the chains holding the man in place, but was pleased at the same time to see that the orcs had left torturing devices in the cell that could be used to remove the manacles.

            "Aragorn, son of Arathorn," Legolas whispered, soothingly, "are you he?"

            The man's eyes focused and he turned his head to the side, slightly, studying the fair features on his visitor's face.  His heart twisted and his eyes filled with tears.

            "So, they have captured more of the Fair Folk," he whispered back, hating what would happen to such a beautiful creature in this foul place.

            "You have erred in your judgment, my friend," the Elf smiled, relieved to hear the strength in the human's voice, and touched by his concern.  "For as you can see, no chains hold me."  He danced away from Aragorn then, demonstrating his freedom of movement.  It was in vain though, for Aragorn could not see him, being pinned face forward against the wall. 

            "What then, you come here freely?!"  Aragorn's hoarse voice cracked in disbelief.

            "Ay, for the chains that bind me are those made from love of this land, and to save it, I must free you from your more restrictive ones, Dunedain," the Elf answered, his soft, melodic voice contrasting sharply with that of the Man's.

            "You are some spirit of my imagination then, for none living could have possibly entered Saruman's realm without invitation and gotten this far.  Or perhaps another means of torture.  You wish to get my hopes up and slash them into pieces, Elf?  A Dark Elf then, is what you are.  Think not that I don't know your kind!"  Aragorn spat, angrily, squeezing his grey eyes shut and shaking his head.

            "You judge me unfairly, Aragorn.  But I understand your confusion.  I am unsure as to how I completed this feat myself.  But I do not act alone, and there have been others working to distract the Deceiver from outside, and I believe their efforts have worked, for I am here, and soon you will be freed.  I am no Dark Elf, as you would call me, but Legolas Greenleaf, once a Prince of the Mirkwood.  I am now just a vagrant, but a live one and for that I am grateful.  Yet my life would be meaningless if I fail in my task to free you, Estel, and so you see why I must."

            Aragorn sighed.  "I care not what you do with me, Elf."

            Legolas nodded, his silver hair falling into his face.  Frowning slightly, he picked up a discarded axe in the corner of the tiny cell.

            "You slay me then," Aragorn asked, his ears picking up the sound of metal scraping against the stone floor.

            "Nay, Man, I come here for your chains, I told you.  They are that which I slay."

            Aragorn did not reply.  The man was afraid to hope that what was happening was real and then to wake and find it was a dream.  

            As Legolas identified weak points in the chains holding Aragorn, and began to strike at them, a voice could be heard from a nearby cell.

            "Let me out of here, ye durn orcs!  You cannot hold me here!  This is too foul a place for Gimli, son of Gloin!"

            "Now why does that name sound familiar?" Legolas wondered at the same time as Aragorn said,

            "He is a fool to call attention to himself."

            "He's a dwarf," Legolas answered, as if that was explanation enough.  He hit the last of Aragorn's chains, and the man fell to the floor.  "Still we will be forced to save him.  His name seems familiar to me, although I know not why."

            Aragorn rubbed his wrists, black and blue from a year of being manacled. 

            Legolas watched him impassively, unwrapping a sword from within his cloak.  He handed it to the bewildered Man, who was trying to stand, and quickly relearn how to walk.

            "What is this?"  Aragorn asked, taking hold of the beautiful blade, which shone as if in sunlight despite the poor lighting of the cell. 

            "The shards of Narcil reforged, Aragorn.  You hold in your hand the Blade of Elendil."

            "Do I…?"  Aragorn whispered, his voice taking on a dreamlike quality.  His grey eyes searched Legolas's face for a sign of a joke, but there was none.  The fair features were smooth with calm, although smudged with grime, and his eyes were honest and true.

            "I hope you can use it, Aragorn," the Elf said softly, his ears picking up on approaching footsteps.  "That dwarf is providing a distraction, which is well, but that will increase the amount of orcs here."

            "It matters not, Greenleaf," Aragorn said gravely, now too able to hear the approaching footsteps and recognizing the rhythm and voices for that of his torturers'. "For we are discovered now."


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Defeated

Author: Dreamdancer    

E-mail: Dreamdancer@tekken.cc

Author's Note:  An important change has been made!!  Aragorn is in the dungeons of Orthanc, not Mordor.  Yeah…that'll be important later…

And I've had a question about the roMance.  It's coming. ^_~  I'm not sure if I'll include the pairings in the summary yet…I kinda would like to wait until it gets started… And about Arwen…well we'll just have to see if she's alive and if she and Aragorn will be the ones to end up together, won't we?  ^_~ And don't worry, the hobbits aren't forgotten…they will play major parts in this…

Enjoy!

            Aragorn felt the blade he was holding tremble in his faltering grip, and the sweat on his forehead drip into his eyes.  They would enter his cell soon.  The three orcs…and he did not think he could face them.  He felt anger toward them, yes, hatred even, but fear moreso.  He had spent too much time at their mercy, feeling the sting of their weapons and their torture.  They had worn him down, yes, they had defeated him weeks ago.  His knees wobbled and then he fell.

            "Legolas, I cannot fight," he whispered, hearing the dreadful footfalls come closer and closer.  He had long ago counted how Many it would take before they would reach his cell.  Eighty more paces, he knew it, they were just turning the corner…even through the dwarf's howling he could hear their steps, each footfall a reminder of the coming pain.  Seventy now…no, that was too soon.  They would be upon him, and they would torture him, he knew it!  Worse than before, so much worse.  He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them, the hope in them gone.  "Replace my chains!" he begged, turning to the Elf with cold urgency in his voice.  He feared what they would do to him if they saw him free, but even more he feared what they had already done to him, what they had been able to reduce him to, yet this shame was nothing compared to his dread.

            The Elf studied him, surprised.  "What?" he gasped, his blue eyes widening.  "You want…?"

            "Chain me!  Before they return!  Or I shall slay you!"  The Man cried, raising his blade up high.  Sixty more, just sixty more steps…    

            Legolas stared.  He had not expected the supposed savior of the Rebellion to be such a coward.  Perhaps he had the wrong Man…?

            "You don't…want to be free?"  Greenleaf licked his lips.  This was not good.  He could not take on all the Orcs of Orthanc on his own, it would be difficult enough with Aragorn fighting on his side, but dragging him along unwillingly would be impossible!  His heart began to pound in his ears and horrid tales of what Orcs do to Elves for pleasure flickered through the back of his mind.

            "Damn you, no!  There is nothing left for me!  They are coming, quickly do as I say!  There is no way for us to leave here!  There is no hope!"  Forty-three more paces!!

            "No hope?"  Legolas' mind was frantically searching for a way to reason with Aragorn.  "Hope…I thought your name was once Estel, what, have you let the Orcs take even your namesake from you?"

            Aragorn's eyes flashed.  "All "hope" for me vanished with the fall of my Elvish home, and the fading of the Undomiel.  I have no Elvish name.  I failed them.  I am just a prisoner.  Your foolish words mean nothing!  Sauron has defeated all hope…has stolen mine…"  His voice faded.  He knew the Elf would not do as he asked…and suddenly didn't care.  Maybe they would kill Aragorn in their anger…he didn't want to live…not without Arwen.

            He closed his eyes, imagining her face.

            Thirty-five more paces.

            "The fading…of the Undomiel?"  The Man was in grief, Legolas could see that.  He had known it from the start.  Unless the grief was lifted, neither would escape.  Aragorn spoke of his lover, Elrond's daughter, and Legolas had heard tales of their love before.  He spoke quickly, his voice urgent.  "So, when I leave here, I suppose I should tell Arwen Evenstar that her beloved Estel chose the company of orcs over hers?"

            Twenty more paces.

            "Arwen is dead!"  Aragorn stared at Legolas.  He had seen her die…hadn't he?

            Legolas was temporarily shocked.  So, the Evenstar had fallen, had she?  He had counted on Aragorn being as unsure about her whereabouts as he was.  He could hear the orcs coming, they could not be more than ten paces from reaching the cell.

            "Isn't she dead?  I'm…not sure…I…can't…remember."  Aragorn looked at the Elf with hope in his eyes.

            They had reached the door.  "She waits for you in the Shire, King of Men.  Will you not fight for her?!"  Legolas asked as the door flung open.  He pulled two arrows out of his quiver as quick as lightning and shot them at the incoming Orcs.  The two he aimed at fell, but the third roared an alarm, and Legolas felt panic surge through his veins.  Of course there had been three Orcs.  He had seen them before.  But his mind was clouded by the atmosphere as well as the falsehood he had just uttered, and he had only shot at the two.  Perhaps it was not untrue, he told himself, perhaps Arwen was there, safe, along with everyone else.

            Aragorn felt something in him stir as he heard the tall silver-haired Elf tell him that Arwen lived.  Then, when he saw Legolas shoot two arrows, and, simultaneously, kill Grumm and Krul, his fear of torture washed away.  Why had he believed the Orcs when they said Arwen had been slain?  They were servants of Evil, they had lied, and they were mortal, just as mortal as he.  

            Aragorn's eyes burned with pent-up anger and pain as he rushed at Frualg, the remaining Orc, screaming, his sword held forward, shining in rebellion against the dark of the dungeon.  He plunged it into the Orc's neck, silencing his call of alarm, spraying blood upon the walls.  The Orc's eyes were wide, and a strange sound was coming out of his torn neck.  Distantly, Aragorn was aware of Legolas shooting arrows above his head, at Orcs gathering behind Frualg, but he did not remove his sword from his torturer's body until the light of life left his cruel eyes.

            Orcs were piling in the doorway of the cell, coming in too fast for Legolas to handle.  Aragorn fought the ones that made it past the doorway, but he had been out of practice for over a year.  His sword fighting skills were not at their best, and Legolas wondered suddenly if this had not all been in vain. 

            A loud bang issued from somewhere close, and the entire dungeon shuddered.  For a moment, all fighting ceased.  Legolas used this time to pick off one of the three orcs surrounding Aragorn, flipping his silvery tresses away from his eyes.  As he did so, another bang sounded from just beyond the doorway, and Orcish cries of agony along with pieces of flesh and putrid smoke assaulted Aragorn and Legolas at once.  Light illuminated the dungeon, and sparkles of all colors flew through the air, raining down on the combatants from the low ceiling.

            "I told ya I'd have ye all dead.  Ya didna believe me now, did ya?" a Dwarvish voice boomed.  Legolas could barely make out his form, but he was standing behind the twenty or so remaining orcs, axe raised, and toothy grin flashing.

            Legolas did not stop to question the sudden ally, shooting arrows as quickly as possible.  He kept as eye on Aragorn all the while, noting with relief that his swordsManship seemed to be slowly improving.  As the Man fought, Legolas could see the shape of his muscles moving under his taut skin.  His eyes shone with power, and Legolas realized that the Man had been, at least in spirit, restored to his former self.

            "I suppose love is just as powerful as Father says," Legolas mused to himself.

            Within minutes, the remaining Orcs were vanquished, due much to the Dwarf's help.  About fifty Orcish bodies had been obliterated by that…thing he did.  There were of course, perhaps thousands more Orcs on the remaining floors.

            After the fighting, the Dwarf and Elf stared at each other, while Aragorn ran to his new ally out of breath.

            "Who are you?  What was that you did?" he gasped, putting his hands on his knees, staring at the shorter creature.

            "I am Gimli, son of Gloin, and those were fireworks," he announced, eying the Man warily.  "Courtesy of Gandalf the Gray.  I kept 'em hidden from those fools and used em to break outta me cell…then I used some more as weapons.  Turned out nice, didn't it?"

            "Gandalf?  You know him?"  Legolas said, surprised.

            "Know him?  Ye durn fool!  He sent me here, Legolas, ya durned Elf!"

            "How do you know my name?"  The Elf asked suspiciously, fingering the arrow he had notched on his bowstring.

            "Know yer…" The Dwarf was trembling in anger to the point that his beard was shaking.  "Didn't ya read the message?  At the Prancing Pony?  Ter WAIT FOR ME?!?!"

            "Oh that."  Legolas smiled faintly.  "So that's why your name sounds familiar.  Yes, I remember now.  It was from Gandalf saying to meet a dwarf with your name and description."  He paused for a second and frowned at the Dwarf.  "I thought it was a joke."

            Gimli fell over.

            "This is all nice and good," Aragorn interrupted, "but we should move.  I have no doubt that the explosion was felt on other floors.  They will be inspecting this area."

            "Eh, it's no trouble," Gimli announced proudly, getting up and removing Orcish entrails and dust from his clothing.  "There was more than one reason the Istari wanted me here.  I'm a dwarf, and as you will see, unlike this tree-loving Elf, I know about stone.  And this here place is made all up of stone.  Many passages have been opened and resealed…I can find them and using the remaining explosives, get us out of here without trouble."

            "Then how bout you get to it, instead of rambling?" Legolas growled, put off by the insult.    

            Gimli smiled and set off to work, telling Legolas to stand guard at the stairs.

            Aragorn caught Legolas' arm as he passed and whispered to him, "Thank you.  Without you, I would be stuck here for the rest of my days, never to see Arwen again."  He turned away, emotion silencing him for a moment.  "You don't know…how much happiness you have given me."

            And to Aragorn's surprise, Legolas did not acknowledge his thanks, but walked to his post and strung an arrow with a strange expression on his face.

            "I should tell him the truth now," he thought.

            But he felt a strange unwillingness to risk the Man's displeasure with him.

            "It must be this dungeon," Greenleaf thought uncertainly, and he glanced at Aragorn from the corner of his eye, who was thoughtfully studying him as well.

Author's Note: Uhhh, was that confusing?  Please tell me if it was.  ^_^   

Next chapter we reunite with a very sad Sam.  


End file.
